


in the cradle of our palms, warm

by silvyri



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: ;D, And he's checking things twice, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor has a list, Depressed Hank Anderson, Depression, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, Hank Anderson Swears, Hank Big, He'd rather you be naughty than nice, I just want all my boys to be happy, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, It's Hank, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Pet Names, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Sick Hank, Soft Connor (Detroit: Become Human), chapter four is just pure smut, connor and hank go on a picnic!, connor is very worried, connor wears hank's clothes, hank goes to therapy, hank in denial, he gets the flu, i'm very proud of them both, i'm weak, lots of hugs, mentions of past suicidal intent, no beta we die like men, pet name kink, so does Connor, what can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-13 18:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18474922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvyri/pseuds/silvyri
Summary: Connor lives with Hank as he waits to be reinstated at the DPD. He does things like put flowers on the kitchen table, wear Hank's clothes, spoil Sumo to bits and smile too brightly for a man over fifty to take. Hank's too busy avoiding certain thoughts involving Connor to work out his own feelings, and why Connor makes the house feel like a home.





	1. nourish

**Author's Note:**

> this is titled "neck deep in android HELL and only wanting to go deeper" on my google docs haha
> 
> hello world this is my first Hankcon fanfic i'm currently screAMING over these two oh someone save me (please dont) i'm getting destroyed and i love it
> 
> this is just self-indulgent domestic fic where everything is soft and warm and hank is sad and connor wears his clothes and hank gets less sad and they hug a lot and hank is in BIG DENIAL and connor just waits SO PATIENTLY WHAT A HONEY honestly i don't really know where i'm going with this except they're in love and they're gonna bang at some point 
> 
> some chapters will be snapshots kinda like this one, others will have narratives and be more linear
> 
> please come and join me on this ride, remember to love yourself and drink water HYDRATION IS KEY

 

There are flowers on the kitchen table.

Hank stands from unclipping Sumo’s leash, eyes glued to the bright yellow petals and delicate green stems. There are five of them, happy and fresh, sitting in a chipped glass vase that Hank didn’t even know he had anymore.

“...Connor?”

Sumo pads forward into the room, panting happily and letting out a quiet _boof_ as Connor appears from the living room. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

The android goes to his knees, smiling as he opens his arms for Sumo’s enthusiastic and drool filled greeting. Hank and Sumo had been only gone for less than half an hour, and the shameless hussy is acting like they’d been away from Conner for _weeks_.

“There are flowers on my table.”

Conner blinks up at him, one eye shutting as Sumo licks excitedly up the side of his face. “That is very astute of you, Lieutenant.”

Hank’s eyebrow ticks. “Don’t get smart with me, kid.”

“I would never.” The left side of Connor’s lips quirks, betraying the seemingly sincere words. Hank narrows his eyes and Conner keeps blinking innocently, patting Sumo’s soft ears. Sumo keeps panting happily, fluffy face blissful.

Hank gives up. “Why are there flowers on my table, Connor?”

Connor stands, wiping his face from Sumo’s drool with the sleeve of Hank’s Detroit Police Academy hoodie. It’s huge on the slim android, slipping down over his thighs and hanging over his palms even with the sleeves rolled up. Hank tries and fails to find it ridiculously endearing and something decidedly else that he tries not too hard to think about.

“I was gardening, and the flower bushes needed a trim. It would be a shame to waste them, and I thought the kitchen needed some brightening up. Do you not like them?” His head tilts slightly with the question, the ever present curl of brown hair falling into his eyes. Fucking hell, who the fuck thought that making an android this cute was a good idea?

Hank doesn’t not _not_ like them. “...Nah, they’re fine, I guess.” He looks at them again, the bright splashes of yellow against the drabness of the kitchen wallpaper. The last time there had been flowers in his house, Leanna had bought them from the local flower shop, and Cole had knocked them off the table in his haste to play outside. He’d cut his feet on the shards of vase and hadn’t been able to play for a week.

His chest tightens, but Hank doesn’t look away. He smiles a little, soft at the memory of Cole’s pouting face and impatient tears and whines of _why can’t my feet heal faster, dad? I wanna run!_

Sumo brushes past him on the way to his water bowl, pulling him out of his thoughts. When he looks back at Connor, the android is watching him, something in his eyes. His mouth is soft, the line of his eyebrows gentle.

“What?” Hank snaps, caught out, and then feels immediately guilty. Connor doesn’t deserve that kind of shit.

But Connor isn’t taken aback. He just smiles again, “nothing, Lieutenant.”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes a week of Connor walking around in Hank’s old clothing, tugging up too big sweatpants and stretched necklines falling off mole dotted shoulders, before Hank finally can’t take it anymore.

He can’t believe he’s about to say this. “I’m taking you shopping.”

Connor looks up from where he’s stirring Hank’s dinner. Curry, tonight, judging from the spicy smell. Hank hopes it’s not too hot, but after the last fiasco of Connor burning the shit out of his tongue, and then his asshole the next morning, and the amount of complaining he made over it, Hank’s pretty sure Connor will adjust the amount of heat he adds this time.

“Pardon, Lieutenant?”

“I’m going to take you shopping and get you some damn clothes that fit you properly, already.”

Connor blinks, looks down at what he’s wearing. One of Hank’s old t shirts and boxers, comically big on him. “I don’t see anything wrong with my attire.”

“Fuck off, you can’t be serious. You’re practically swimming in that shit!”

Connor frowns. “I am not, as you said, swimming in that shit. I am currently standing in your kitchen, and am far from any source of feces-”

“Oh for-,” Hank rubs a hand down his face. “You know what I mean, you little shit.”

Connor’s serious face breaks, and he smiles, brown eyes light. He really is a little shit. “I like these clothes.”

Eyebrows rising, Hank feels incredulous. “Really? Why?”

Connor shrugs, and turns back to the stove. He sticks his finger in the simmering curry and Hank fights back the fright of seeing him stick an appendage into something hot on the stove. Fucking androids.

Drawing his fingers back out, Connor licks them. Hank flicks his eyes away, back down to the digital newspaper spread out in front of him. “Your dinner will be ready in five minutes and thirty two seconds. And to answer your question; because they are soft, and they are yours.”

Hank’s face burns at his cheeks. “You’re fucking weird, you know.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Connor’s tone belays no sarcasm, but Hank hears it anyway.

Hank clears his throat. “Whatever. We’re going shopping tomorrow, anyway. It’s about damn time you own your own clothes. At least you’re out of that dumbass Cyberlife uniform.”

Connor makes a noncommittal noise, and busies himself with serving up some rice in a bowl. After he’s placed dinner in front of Hank, he sits across from the man, chin in his palm as he watches Hank eat. The first few times he hadn’t joined Hank at the table and Hank had felt uncomfortable and guilty at the fact that Connor had cooked for him, but couldn’t eat and couldn't join him. Telling him to sit and stay while Hank ate had made him look so stupidly happy, brown eyes wrinkling perfectly at the corners with how wide he’d smiled that Hank doesn’t have the heart to complain about Connor watching him eat like a hawk.

“I think I wouldn’t mind some clothes of my own,” Conner says after a while, his expression thoughtful. His LED spins a gentle blue. Hank grunts into his spoonful of rice and green curry, thankfully mild.

“Good,” he says simply.

 

* * *

 

Connor, after becoming deviant, is slowly becoming used to his new self. Things sometimes confuse him, and sometimes he still reacts like a stone wall, face blank and voice flat, movements too perfect and robotic. Other times, he’s confident and soft around the edges, and he begins to express himself in different ways, discovers things that he likes for no reason other than it makes him _happy_.

Hank has to explain it to him though, sometimes.

Connor is staring at two shirts in his hands. Around them, the shop is mostly empty of other customers. Detroit is slowly regaining people after the evacuation; but it might well be decades before the city is back up to it’s original population. People are still wary of androids that reside here, even if _awake_ androids exist in other cities that people have fled to. Detroit will always be the place where the android uprising is remembered most.

“What’s wrong?” Hank asks after watching Connor stare at them for three minutes straight, his LED steadily pulsing yellow.

“I cannot decide between these two shirts,” Connor says.

Hank sighs. “Just get both, come on.”

Connor frowns, lines appearing between his brows. Hank’s fingers itch to soothe them away. “I do not need both, Lieutenant.”

Of course this couldn’t be solved easily. “Okay then,” Hank steps up closer to him. “Why can’t you decide?”

Connor holds up one shirt higher. It’s a dress shirt, perfectly pressed, a pristine white. “This shirt would be more appropriate for work if I am reinstated. It is safe, and reminiscent of the shirt of my Cyberlife uniform.”

He holds up the other one. It’s a soft grey, relaxed with long sleeves. The material looks comfortable, and it would be loose around Connor’s slim frame. “But this one-” Connor stops, his LED flicking to red for a split second, before spinning back to yellow.

Hank’s shoulder relax, and he feels the sides of his mouth draw up in a smile at the confused concentration on Connor’s face. “Seems like you like that one more.”

Connor’s lips press together. “I do not understand why. The other shirt would be a logical pick, but I seem to be drawn to the other one more for no reason.”

Hank rubs the back of his neck. “You don’t need a reason to like something over something else, Connor. Sometimes you just do.”

Blinking, Connor looks up at him, his mouth falling open in a surprised o. “I… do not need a reason?”

Hank shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

Connor’s LED spins yellow, and then cycles abruptly to blue. He smiles, putting the dress shirt back on the rack without hesitation. “Thank you, Lieutenant. That makes sense. I can like something for no reason other than liking it, even if it is not the logical choice. You are very intelligent sometimes, Lieutenant.”

Hank huffs, “it’s a pretty damn simple concept, Connor- wait, whaddya mean _sometimes?_ ”

 

* * *

 

Morning.

6:47 to be exact, the blue light of Hank’s alarm clock too cheery in the dim of his room.

Hank throws a forearm over his face, groaning. It’s too fucking early for him to be awake, what the fuck. But he needs to piss, and he’s fucking _awake_ , goddamnit.

He rolls out of bed, feet hitting the carpet with two dull thunks. Yawns, stretches, winces as his back cracks one, two, three times. Yeah, thanks for that, he knows he’s getting old. Older, really, he’s already fucking _old_.

The bathroom light when he turns it on is jarring, seering into his eyeballs. Hank squints against it as he pisses, shakes his dick and washes his hands. He didn’t use to, but the judgey looks from Connor after he walks out of the bathroom without doing so have finally gotten him into the habit.

He walks into the lounge, scratching at the hair on his stomach. The couch where Connor sleeps- _goes into statis for diagnoses and software updates and sorting of his mind palace_ , or whatever, is empty, the android’s favourite fluffy blanket folded neatly on the couch cushions. There’s movement in the kitchen, Hank pads quietly to the entrance and blinks slowly at what he finds.

Connor is at the kitchen counter cutting something up, barefoot and dressed in a pair of his own sweatpants and Hank’s DPD hoodie, even if he has his own clothes now. That’s not what gives Hank pause though, it’s his own headphones perched on Connor’s head, and the fact that he can hear the beat clearly, the android is playing the music that loud. And Connor is _dancing_ \- well, he’s nodding his head, his body bopping and moving side to side, shifting on his feet, and he’s humming. He finishes cutting up what looks like carrot sticks and turns to put them into a container with a flourish, spinning on his heel, and stops dead when he spots Hank.

The smile that he gives Hank has no business being so bright. Hank feels the warmth down to his toes.

“Lieutenant! Good morning,” Connor greets, slipping the headphones down around his neck. The kitchen light flicks on, and the music quietens with no gesture from him. “You’re awake earlier than normal. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah-” Hank coughs, clearing his throat and blinking in the light. “Yeah, I slept well. Did- did you?” And then he immediately winces, he’d just reminded himself five seconds ago that Connor didn’t _sleep_ , fuck.

“I spent the night browsing music genres after my nightly software update and found an artist I found quite pleasing, so yes, I had a good night.”

“That’s great,” Hank says. Shit, he’s so dumb and slow in the mornings. Damn Connor and his android sunniness and constant switched-on-ness.

“Sit down, I’ll make you some coffee,” Connor turns back to the counter, reaching for the jar of coffee. Hank does what he’s told, and for lack of anything better to do, opens up the digital newspaper sitting there. Same old shit, pieces on the ongoing talks between androids and the government, more anti-android sentiments, the weather, sports, celebrity bullshit, the economy floundering after half of it’s workforce deciding to become self-aware and demanding fair pay.

Coffee is placed down in front of him and Hank picks it up with a muttered thank you, inhaling the scent of the liquid of the gods greedily. Connor sits down across from him, and after Hank has consumed at least half of his coffee, realises that Connor has a mug of his own, steaming between his palms.

“Jasmine tea,” Connor explains when he sees Hank staring at it in confusion.

“I thought you couldn’t drink,” Hank says bluntly.

“I can’t,” Connor picks it up, holds it beneath his nose and inhales. His eyelids flutter shut and a small smile lingers over the pink of his lips. “I can’t. But- I enjoy the scent. I find it… Calming. And it is warm. I enjoy warmth.”

“Oh,” Hank says, and for some reason he feels like a pervert, watching Connor enjoy something so simple. He looks away, down into the brown of his coffee. Perfectly brewed, no sugar, a splash of milk. He used to take three sugars, but Connor had done away with that pretty quickly. Hank doesn’t want to hear that lecture about unhealthy sugar intakes and what it does to his arteries ever again.

“What were you doing before I came in?” He asks.

Connor opens his eyes, but doesn’t take the tea away from his face. “Making you lunch.”

Hank shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Looks at Connor’s slim fingers wrapped around his dark green mug. “You know you don’t have to do all this shit, right?”

“What... _shit_ are you referring to?”

Sighing, Hank looks back at his coffee, at his big paws of his hands holding it, hairy and craggy and rough, nails chipped and tough, so unlike the perfect, pianist shape of Connor’s. “Making me lunch, breakfast, dinner, cleaning, doing the groceries, all that _shit_.”

“Why not?”

“Fuck, you’re not my housewife, Connor!”

Connor does his little head tilt thing again. “I am perfectly aware of that fact, Lieutenant.”

Hank closes his eyes in frustration. “I mean, you’re your own person. You don’t have to do all this shit because I can’t get off my lazy ass to do it all. Find something you wanna do, you know, for yourself, not for me.”

Blinking, Connor puts his mug down. “I want to do all this shit.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Connor, nobody wants to do this kind of shit, cleaning up after an old man, making him lunches because all he can do is go down the road from the station and buy the same old shitty burger!”

“You are not an old man, you’re middle aged, Lieutenant. And yes, I do want to do all of this.”

Hank puts his face in his hands. Fuck shit damn, it’s too early in the morning for this. “I’m just saying, all you do is spend time in my house, doing fucking chores. You should be out there, doing, I don’t know, anything but this! Joining your android buddies in the revolution, experiencing life, finding yourself or some bullshit.”

Sumo walks into the kitchen, whining from all the noise. Connor bends down and pats him, eyeing Hank as he does so. “Sorry, Sumo. Your owner is being obstinate.”

“Fuck you,” Hank mutters.

Connor raises a brow and stands up to feed Sumo. “Lieutenant, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be here,” he says, pouring kibble into Sumo’s dog dish. The big Saint Bernard _boofs_ happily and digs in. Hank’s eyes catch on the thin strip of skin exposed on Connor’s lower back as he bends over, and he quickly looks away as Connor straightens. “However, if it makes you feel better, I will leave some tasks to you. Washing the dishes, and hanging the laundry, if that suffices?”

It kind of doesn’t, but Hank knows he’s not going to be winning this one. When does he ever win against Connor and his big brown eyes? And who the fuck fights about doing _more_ chores anyway? Christ.

“Fine, sure, whatever,” he finally sighs.

“Now that we have finished arguing, I will start on your breakfast. Two egg omelette and wholegrain toast?”

“Sounds great,” Hank huffs, and goes back to his newspaper.

 

* * *

 

Hank gets back early from work one day. The case he’s working on has crept slowly to a standstill, and seems to stubbornly want to stay that way. With nothing else to do at the station, he’d called it early. He feels like he deserves it after a month of turning up before nine am every day.

Usually when he comes home, Connor is right at the doorway, greeting him. But today he isn’t there. The house is quiet, but Sumo’s leash is still hung on the coat rack along with Connor’s coat, so Connor can’t be out taking Sumo for a walk. Shrugging, Hank goes to kitchen and opens himself up a beer. Tells himself that he deserves it. Walks to the living room, fully intending to do some quality couch potatoing, but comes to a stop where the kitchen tiles become carpet.

Connor _is_ home. He’s curled up on the carpet in a patch of dying sunlight, using Sumo’s massive furry side as a pillow, the big dog snoring quietly. His hair is messy and soft, curling down over his forehead, his eyelashes dark and delicate against the pale gold of his skin, eyes closed in what must be some kind of resting mode. His lips are gently parted as he breathes slow; something the android doesn’t need to do, but prefers to.

The whole scene is startlingly warm and domestic. It tugs at something in Hank’s chest that he’s been feeling more and more these days, and he must make a sound because Connor’s fingers, buried in Sumo’s fur, twitch.

Liquid brown eyes blink up at him, and the smile that spreads over Connor’s face as he sits up sends Hank’s poor old heart racing. “Welcome home, Lieutenant.”

The words are quiet. They don’t break the carefully held atmosphere, and Hank can only watch, dumb, as Sumo snuffs and blinks awake. Both dog and android stretch at the same time, and shit, Hank has to take a long pull of his beer to distract him from the strip of skin Connor’s shirt pulling up reveals.

“I see how it is. I have to go to the station and work my ass off, and you get to stay home and laze around with my dog.”

Connor’s smile turns mischievous. “Sounds about right.”

Hank snorts. “Damn android.”

Later, after dinner, Hank sits Connor down on the couch, because it’s a damn crime that the android hasn’t seen _Blade Runner_.

“It’s a classic,” Hank explains, “if you haven’t seen Harrison Ford in his prime, then you haven’t lived. And I think you’ll like it. Especially the final cut, with none of that voice over crap.”

Connor cocks his head, drawing his feet up and crossing his legs so Sumo can rest his giant head in the space between them. Having the dog up on the couch means there’s hardly any space for them, and Connor being the smallest means that he’s squished up against Hank’s side.

Nobody complains.

“If you say so, Lieutenant.”

“I say so,” Hank huffs, as Connor blinks at the television and the movie begins to play. Two minutes in, and Connor says, “the image quality is rather quite terrible, the number of pixels-”

“Nope-” Hank points his finger at the android, narrowing his eyes. “No damn android analyzing stuff, turn all that funky shit off and relax and enjoy the movie, Connor.”

“If I turn _all that funky shit off_ I will cease to function,” Connor says innocently, the snarky shit.

“If only,” Hank sighs, and Connor _pouts_ , damn him, learning all these adorable expressions. Hank forces his gaze away from those lips, so pretty and pink and wet with thick android saliva from Connor licking them, and concentrates hard on the camera panning over the dystopian cityscape of L.A.

They’re hardly half an hour in when Hank feels a warm weight settle against his shoulder. He’s absurdly proud of himself when he doesn’t tense up and only strains his eyes to look down without turning his head. A mess of brown curls rests against him, glossy and soft looking.

But of course Connor doesn’t need a physical tell to know that something’s different. The android shifts against him, making a quiet noise. “Are you alright, Lieutenant?”

Hanks coughs. “Uh, yeah, sure. Why you asking?”

Connor sits up and Hank immediately misses the weight of him.

“Your heart rate picked up from your resting rate of 68 beats per minute to 74 beats per minute, and the pacing of this part of the film is sedate, so it cannot be the reason.” Connor looks to the side, and it’s so different from Connor’s usual direct, no bull eye contact that Hank’s taken aback for a second. “If- I’m sorry if me resting my head against you made you uncomfortable. I didn’t- it wasn’t a conscious move. But I have researched that two humans who are comfortable in each other’s company who watch a movie tend to rest against each other and-”

Connor’s panicking. It’s such a novel sight that Hank can’t help but grin. “Hey, calm down there, Con. If you want to use me as a pillow, go ahead. I’ve definitely got a big enough layer of fat that it’ll make me comfy.”

Connor blinks. “Your shoulder does not have a thicker than average layer of fat present for a human male your age, lieutenant.”

“Thanks, Connor. Flattery will get you everywhere with me.”

Another blink, eyelashes sweeping against the pale of Connor’s skin. He’s got a dark freckle beneath his right eye; Hank finds it hopelessly distracting. “I’m not flattering you. But if you want, I could add it to my conversational repertoire-”

Grunting, Hank grabs the side of Connor’s head and forces his face against his shoulder. The android could easily resist, but he doesn’t, letting Hank mush his cheek into Hank’s sweater. Hank can feel the android smile. “Just shuddup and watch the movie.”

“Okay,” Connor says muffled against Hank’s shoulder, and Hank grins, letting go of Connor’s face so he can turn and watch the movie properly. Little by little, Connor’s body sinks further against Hank’s side, warm and comforting, and well, the only natural response Hank can take is to hug the android closer to him, palm resting lightly on Connor’s faux ribcage.

As the credits roll, neither of them move.

“You were right,” Connor murmurs gently, “I did like it. Thank you for showing me.”

“You’re welcome,” Hank grunts. They sit there in silence, watching the names scroll up the screen, just breathing. There’s something building, and Hank doesn’t know what to do about it, should he-

Sumo sneezes, startling himself awake. He looks so surprised that Hank laughs and a second later Connor joins in. Affronted, Sumo heaves himself up off Connor’s lap and slinks off the couch to his dog bed.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asks when he realises that Hank is looking at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Hank says. “It’s just- I’ve never heard you laugh before.”

Connor pauses, looking unsure.

“You should do it more. It suits you.”

And then, of course, Hank realises what he’s just said. _Fuck_ , he thinks, and levers himself off the couch, his side cold from him leaving Connor’s warmth. “Time for bed for this old man, I’ve got an early start tomorrow. If I’d known Fowler would run up my ass even more after getting my shit together, I never would’ve done it in the first place.”

He doesn’t, but Connor doesn’t know that. The android stares at him for a second, brown eyes unreadable, and then looks away again.

“Good night then, Lieutenant. Sleep well.”

 

* * *

 

Hank has good days, and bad days. Mostly good, now that he’s stopped playing russian roulette with his hand gun every few nights and drinks less like a fish and more like an old dog who keeps missing his water bowl, but when he opens his eyes in the morning before his alarm wakes him up, he knows that it’s going to be a bad one.

He rolls over, stares up at his ceiling. Doesn’t even have the strength to swear at it, just closes his eyes again.

Ten minutes later, his alarm goes off.

Five minutes later, it switches off with no movement from him.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asks quietly from the doorway. Sumo forces his way past the android’s legs and jumps up onto Hank’s bed with a soft _boof_ , laying down by Hank’s side and resting his head on Hank’s stomach.

“I think I’m gonna have a lie in today,” Hank says. It’s a Saturday, and he doesn’t have to go into work.

“Alright,” Connor says tentatively. Hank buries a hand in Sumo’s fur, pets him slowly. Sumo always can tell when he’s having a bad day and cuddles up close to him. Hank would have a hard time making the dog leave him alone, if he wanted to. He doesn’t.

“If you need anything, just ask, I’ll hear,” Connor closes the door softly and Hank closes his eyes again to see Cole’s smile painted on the back of his eyelids.

He sleeps, and dreams of swing sets and paddling pools and little sticky fingers in his hair.

Hours later, he manages to get himself out of bed and into the shower, and when he gets himself out into the kitchen Connor has made him coffee and eggs on toast already, the android sitting across from the mug with his own cup of tea. Connor’s eyes don’t judge as they follow him sitting down, and Hank’s thankful for the silence as he slowly munches his way through the first meal of his day. Hank tries not to think that his coffee will taste better spiked with bourbon.

Finished eating, he puts his fork and knife down and finds that Connor’s standing next to him. “It’s time for Sumo’s walk. Would you like to join?”

Hank should, but he doesn’t feel like it. “Nah,” he grunts, “might just watch a game.”

Connor frowns, and looks down at Sumo laying across Hank’s feet. “If you don’t come, it’s highly likely that today Sumo won’t want to either. And it’s beneficial for Sumo to take at least one half hour walk a day, otherwise a dog his size is at risk of bone weakness and muscular dystrophy-”

Hank knows that one day won’t hurt Sumo. But damn, Connor and his guilt trips. He sighs, interrupting the android, and stands. “Fine, I’ll come, stop worrying your pretty little android head about it already. Just lemme go get dressed.”

Connor’s smile is bright, little dimples appearing on each cheeks. They make it impossible for Hank to get pissy about Connor clumsily trying to get him to do something productive. He gets dressed quickly and warmly; it’s only just come into spring, and it’s chilly.

Connor is waiting at the door, Sumo’s leash in hand. Seeing it, Sumo _boofs_ and ambles up to Connor eagerly, pawing at the door. Smiling, Connor clips the leash onto his collar and opens it.

But instead of rushing out, Sumo sits and looks at Hank soulfully.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, jeez, I’ve got an android and a dog that won’t leave me the fuck alone, don’t I?” He sounds like an old grouch, but fuck, Hank is ridiculously grateful for these two. How did he get so lucky?

Connor gives him Sumo’s leash, their hands brushing for split second. Hank busies himself with adjusting his coat so he doesn’t blush like a teenager on their first date, _Christ_ he’s over fifty he didn’t even know he could still do that, and steps out.

“Wait, Lieutenant.”

“What now-” Hank turns and blinks as Connor steps up to him, wool obscuring his vision for a second.

“It’s cold. A scarf will help ward off any chills. I don’t want you to get sick,” Connor wraps the blue scarf around his neck one more time, hands soft where his fingers brush against Hank’s cheeks. Hank can only stare at Connor’s freckles, frozen, as Connor pats the scarf and takes a step back. “There. Now we are ready to go.”

“Uh huh,” Hank says, like an idiot. And it’s only because he’s staring right at Connor’s nose, not meeting his eyes, that he notices a light blue flush spreading across Connor’s skin, hardly noticeable.

Sumo _boofs_ , tugging at his leash, impatient to go for his walk. Hank blinks, breaking himself out of his stupor, and turns abruptly to walk down the front steps. Behind him, Connor locks the door, and the three of them walk quietly to the park a few streets over.

Sitting on the park bench when they arrive, watching Connor throw a stick ridiculously far away for Sumo, Hank doesn’t fight the little smile that grows across his lips. When Sumo trots back after the fifth throw, Hank’s the one who grabs the stick out of his mouth and tosses it.

It doesn’t go as far as when Connor threw it, but Sumo runs after it with as much gusto.

“Thanks, you know, for-” Hank says, watching Sumo maneuver around a bush, almost losing his footing against the grass in his eagerness. He doesn’t end the sentence, sighing instead, breath misting in the fresh air.

At his side, Connor leans against him for a moment in silent acknowledgment, his warmth permeating through their clothing. He goes to pull away, but Hank grabs his around his waist, keeping him close. Connor staggers, and then rights himself against Hank’s shoulder. He stays there, a quiet, constant presence by Hank’s side.

Hank just watches Sumo find the stick and trot back triumphantly. They stay at the park until Sumo refuses to fetch anymore and Hank’s fingers are numb from the cold.

On the way home, Connor keeps one of his hands warm by holding it in one of his. It doesn't occur to Hank that he could pull away.


	2. cherish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets sick and Connor worries.

It’s raining cats and dogs that night when Hank makes it home. He’s soaked through and cold to the bone, teeth chattering as he climbs out of his car. He’d blasted the heater as he’d driven but it still feels like ice has seeped into his blood.

Damn that perp who’d fled after one look at him. Who the fuck wants to run through this damn rain anyway? Crazy dipshit. Hank’s getting way too old and grouchy to be running after hotshot young men who think they can escape a murder conviction with two legs and a crazy belief that the law won’t catch up to them.

When he opens the door from the garage he’s greeted with warm air and the smell of cooking. Sumo’s already halfway down the hall as he comes in and Hank has to fend him off so he doesn’t get Sumo wet as well. The smell of wet dog really isn’t up there in his favourite experiences.

“Lieutenant, welcome home. You’re very wet.”

Hank snorts at Connor. The android has a tea towel slung over his shoulder and he’s in Hank’s DPD hoodie again, the little thief. “Yeah, no shit, Connor.”

Connor frowns. “Your temperature is below what would be considered healthy. You should get out of your wet clothes and into the shower as quickly as possible- Sumo, out of the Lieutenant’s way, I don’t want to have to give you a bath as well.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Hank says, already stripping out of his coat. Connor takes it from him, herding Sumo away with his legs. The dog whines and sits forlornly across the hall from them.

“Shush, Sumo,” Connor hushes, not unkindly. “Why didn’t you change and shower at the station? You wouldn’t be as cold if you did.”

Hank’s dripping all over the carpet. As he makes his way down the hall, he wrings his hair out, dripping more water everywhere. It’s worth it for the dirty look Connor gives him. “Didn’t want to spend another second there, fucking Reed kept making jokes about drowned rats and washed up detectives.”

“Detective Reed is a fuckass,” Connor says helpfully, and Hank snorts.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong- uh, why are you following me into the bathroom?”

Connor stops and blinks. “Sorry, lieutenant. I- I was going to collect your clothes to put them in the wash.”

“I can do it myself, Connor, I’m not an invalid,” Hank grunts, and Connor nods, turning to leave. Hank turns the shower on and strips out of his shirt, dumping it onto the tiles in a cold, wet heap and blinking when he sees that Connor has paused in the doorway. Brown eyes are centered somewhere on his chest, the android’s mouth parted slightly as he breathes air he doesn’t need.

Hank twitches, self conscious. He knows he’s fucking fat, he doesn’t need Connor staring at his man boobs to figure that out. “What?” He grumbles, “are you gonna stand there and watch me shower?”

Connor jumps, and Hank watches, curious, as that light blue flush spreads over Connor’s cheeks. It’s… _cute_.

“No,” Connor _squeaks_ , voice high and a little staticy, and he closes the door a little harder than he needs to. Hank raises an eyebrow and proceeds to strip. What a goof.

When he gets out of the shower he feels a little bit more human, limbs looser with warmth. He wraps a towel around himself, avoids the mirror, and almost trips over a stack of clean clothes outside the bathroom door. There are even damn slippers. He picks them up, grumbling about overly helpful androids, and retreats back into the warm, steamy bathroom to get dressed.

It only takes him a second to realise that the hoodie he pulls on is the one Connor was wearing just before. It’s still warm from the android’s artificial body heat, but when Hank puts his nose to it, it doesn’t smell different, only like laundry powder and a bit like himself. His belly warms at the thought of Connor wearing his clothes with his scent on it, but he quickly banishes the thought before he starts thinking too deeply about it.

Connor’s sitting on the couch, Sumo laying across his legs, when Hank emerges with his wet clothes in hand to put in the wash. His eyes are closed, LED spinning a gentle yellow, and Hank figures he’s communicating with Markus since it’s about the time that he sometimes does.

When he gets back into the lounge, Connor’s eyes are open, and he’s patting Sumo, murmuring “you’re a good doggo, yes you are, such a good boy,” to him in a baby voice. It’s such a contrast to when Hank first met him that he just stands there for a second, absorbing, until Connor looks up at him and grins. He grabs the flop of Sumo’s jaws and makes the dog talk, “hello, Lieutenant!”

Hanks huffs with a chuckle. “How’s the android squad going in Washington?”

“Not making as much progress as they would like. They are finding human politicians and their policies rather trying, _yes they are_ ,” Connor directs the last few words to Sumo, and the dog just looks up at him, huge pink tongue lolling. Hank doesn’t know who taught Connor how to baby talk to his damn dog, but it _definitely_ wasn’t him. At all.

“Sounds about right,” Hank snorts, scratching his beard. It’s still a little damp.

Connor frowns at him, getting up from the couch with a quick apology to Sumo when the dog whines at having his pillow leave. “You should dry your hair before you catch a chill.”

“I’ll be fine, mom,” Hank rolls his eyes, but then Connor is herding him into the kitchen, pushing him down onto a chair. Hank protests, trying to push back, but Connor is really fucking strong, so he just slumps in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Stay,” Connor orders, and Hank grumbles that he’s not a dog, but does what he’s told. Connor’s got him wrapped around his little finger, and the bad thing is, Hank doesn’t even _mind_.

Connor leaves the room and Hank’s left in quiet for a minute, listening to the heavy rain against the roof and the oven fans whirring, cooking whatever Connor has in there. It’s warm and cosy, and Hank is hit with sudden gratitude over the fact that Connor has made his house feel like a home. Hank feels more comfortable here than he ever did or ever thought he would; this place was only meant to be somewhere he could store his shit and sleep and slowly drink himself to death, something so far detached from what the home he shared with his son and wife was that he would never be reminded of it. And Connor has completely turned that over on its head, cleaning and cooking and occupying the space with his presence and smiles and doe brown eyes and ridiculous floppy hair. Fuck, Hank feels simultaneously grateful for Connor and so guilty as well, keeping the android here with a depressed recovering alcoholic, making him play housekeeper while he waits to see whether he will be reinstated or not. Connor can argue with him all he likes, and Hank knows he won’t change Connor’s mind, but the android belongs somewhere else, somewhere that isn’t occupied by a fat old dude who can’t get over his son’s death, somewhere with his own kind that will understand him and give him everything that he deserves, because Connor deserves _so much better_ than what Hank can offer. Which is fuck all.

Hank has his face in his hands when Connor returns. The android touches him on the shoulder.

“Lieutenant?”

“‘M fine,” Hank says through his fingers. “Just fucking tired.”

Connor makes a soft sound. “I’ll get your hair dry and then you can eat dinner and go to sleep.”

“Sure,” Hank sighs. And here he goes, letting Connor play maid because it’s easier than arguing and makes him feel cared for. Christ, he’s such a piece of shit.

Connor switches on the hair dryer he has in his hand and buries his fingers in Hank’s hair, moving the wet strands around so everything gets dried equally. It feels fucking good, and every now and then Connor gives his scalp a rub, short artificial fingernails scritching over Hank’s skin. It’s been so long since someone has touched him like this that Hank almost feels a little overwhelmed, but he just sits in his chair and melts a little, feeling guilty.

Hair dry and task done, Connor turns off the hairdryer, but his fingers don’t leave Hank’s hair. Hank doesn’t have the strength to protest as the android runs his fingers through the strands, gently combing out any tangles he finds, until Hank’s hair is probably the neatest it’s ever been. Connor finishes by smoothing all of Hank’s hair back and deftly tying it back at his nape with a hair tie that he’d had wrapped around his wrist.

By that point Hank is feeling all gooey and warm inside and the guilt he has whenever Connor does something for him is quiet, so he allows himself the light thrill that tingles through him when Connor’s fingers linger on the back of his neck before the android pulls away.

Dinner turns out to be a pasta bake, the most unhealthy and carb laden thing Connor has allowed him to eat the past few weeks. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Hank doesn’t make a comment, just tucks in with a heartfelt thanks. Connor sits across from him, his weekly mug of thirium in his hands, and chats idly with him about what’s happening at the station.

 

* * *

  

When Hank wakes up the next morning his head feels stuffy and his throat scratchy, limbs aching from the short chase he’d undertaken last night. Ignoring the symptoms, he gets up, tells Connor he’ll be fine when the android fusses over the slight rise of his body temperature, and goes to work.

Of course, ignoring how shit he feels doesn’t make the cold fuck off. Hours into his shift Reed is making disgusted noises whenever he blows his nose and tissues are quickly piling up in his wastebasket.

“Anderson, go home,” Jeffrey finally says after Hank sneezes all over his terminal and wipes it half heartedly with his sleeve.

But Hank’s a stubborn asshole. “I’m fine,” he grumbles, “it’s just a cold.”

“Just a cold my asshole,” Jeffrey snorts, “you look like shit. Go home before you infect the entire station with your germs.”

Hank tries to object again, but he interrupts himself with another sneeze that rattles his brain in his skull. “You know, maybe you’re onto something,” he sniffs, reaching for another tissue.

“I’m not captain of this hellhole for nothing,” Jeffrey sighs. “Go home to your android and let the poor guy look after you, last time I didn’t make you to go home after spraining your ankle Connor sent me the most passive aggressive email about health and safety in the workplace that he made my ex-wife look like a sweetheart.”

“He’s not my android, Jeff, Christ we’ve been over this, he’s his own person,” Hank grumbles.

Jeffrey raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Before Hank can splutter, he reaches over Hank’s desk and turns off his terminal. “Go home, Lieutenant, before Reed has an aneurysm.”

“You just wanna get rid of me,” Hank grumbles, but he gets out of his chair, gathering up his shit and stuffing it in his bag. On his way out he throws a dirty tissue at Reed’s head just to make himself feel better, and the girly shriek Reed lets out when he discovers snot in his hair has him grinning all the way home.

Connor takes one look at him when he arrives home and drops the book he’d been reading in horror.

Hank levels a finger at him. “Don’t tell me you told me so or I’ll sneeze all over you.” He completes the sentence with a actual sneeze, groaning when it makes his head ache even more.

“I wasn’t going to,” Connor gets up from the couch and slips a palm over Hank’s forehead. Hank doesn’t know why the android does it since he always seems to know what temperature he’s running at without touching him, but the cool touch is nice on his sweaty skin.

Connor frowns. “Your temperature is consistent with the common cold.” He drops his hand and herds Hank into his bedroom, fluffing up his pillow and forcing him under his covers. Hank is too tired and achy to complain, so he just accepts the painkillers and the mug of lemon honey and ginger the android brings him, and doesn’t even think it would taste better spiked.

When Hank’s finished with it Connor takes the mug out of his hand before Hank can drop it, eyes drooping already. He’s so fucking tired; when he was younger and hadn’t drunk the rest of his health away he could push through a cold no problem, but now he’s an old fart it’s put him down almost immediately.

“Wake me up in an hour, don’t wanna sleep the whole day away,” Hank manages to mumble.

Blankets are tucked up under his chin and Hank’s not sure if the touch on his forehead is Connor’s hands or his imagination, but it feels like Connor had brushed a strand of his hair off his forehead.

“Sure thing, Lieutenant,” is the last thing Hank hears before he drifts off.

 

* * *

 

When Hank wakes up, it’s dark. His head hurts like a motherfucker and he’s just one big ache and his throat feels like it’s on fire.

He tries to sit up and coughs wetly into a weak fist, swearing.

Hands push him back down and Hank blinks blearily up at Connor, doe brown eyes big with worry.

“You didn’t wake me up,” Hank rasps.

“You needed rest,” Connor says, tucking the blankets around him again. “And you still do. Go back to sleep, Lieutenant.”

Hank’s already drifting off. Another touch to his forehead, and this time Hank’s delirious enough to think that it’s Connor’s lips on his skin.

 

* * *

 

A full bladder is what wakes Hank up next. Groaning, he manages to sit up, holding his head.

Movement next to him makes him look to the side, and he’s slow enough that it takes him what feels like a full minute to realise that Connor had been sitting next to him on the bed.

“Wha-?” He manages to rasp, and coughs. Connor frowns, uncrossing his legs, and reaches over to the bedside table to offer him some tissues. Hank blows his nose and blinks blearily.

“Gotta piss,” he says, struggling to get out of bed. Connor is at his side in an instant, untangling him from the sheets, and helping him to the bathroom. He’s right outside again when Hank reappears and leads him right back to bed, handing him more painkillers and urging him to drink.

Hank drinks what he can, grimacing as the water aggravates his throat, and curls up under his blankets again, miserable. He falls asleep with fingers carding through his sweaty hair, a cool hand on his brow.

 

* * *

 

 

The next five days Hank wakes up every now and then to Connor making him drink more liquids and coaxing him to eat. The sixth day he wakes up is the first time he feels vaguely human again.

He sits up, making a face at how gross he feels, sweat soaked and greasy haired. He probably smells disgusting.

“Lieutenant?” Hank blinks, coughing into his fist, the sound less horrible, and sees Connor sitting cross legged on the duvet next to him, tablet in his hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Have you been there this entire time?” Hank rasps, ignoring the question as he vaguely recalls Connor being a constant presence throughout the horrible experience of him being sick.

Connor sets the tablet aside and places his palm on Hank’s forehead. “Your temperature is better.”

“Seriously, tell me you haven’t been playing nursemaid.”

Connor lets his hand fall. “I was very worried,” he says bluntly, brown eyes serious. “Your sickness developed into influenza. Your temperature reached 104 degrees fahrenheit and I had to monitor you constantly in case it rose and hospitalisation was necessary. A fever of 105 degrees can result in irreparable harm to the human body, and influenza can lead to other complications such as bronchitis or pneumonia, which can be life threatening. I would not allow for anything to happen to you. Sumo would never forgive me. I would never forgive me.”

“Shit,” Hank groans. “No wonder I was out for a week. Sorry for worrying you, Connor. Humans are fucking fragile, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Connor agrees, and he looks a little panicked. “I- I spent some time thinking what would happen if you got sicker and-” Connor stops, seemingly unable to say the word. “It was- very stressful, Lieutenant. It- it hurt very much-”

Hank’s heart almost stops when he realises that the wetness in Connor’s eyes are tears. The android is crying. Over _him_ and the idea of his mortality.

“Oh hell, Con,” Hank reaches out and grabs Connor in his arms, enveloping the android in a hug. “I’m fine, see, still alive, still old and grouchy as ever. It’s gonna take more than a little flu to make me kick the bucket.”

Connor shudders in his arms, burying his face in Hank’s shoulder and grasping the shirt over his chest. “Please don’t get sick again,” he whispers, voice strained and staticky.

“Yeah, can’t promise that kid, it’s part of being human.”

“Well stop it,” Connor huffs against his shirt, and Hank’s suddenly reminded again that he probably stinks to high heaven. He tries to let go of the android, but Connor just snuggles closer. Hank’s heart tries to strangle itself in his chest and he smiles, patting Connor’s back gently.

“Can’t do that, sorry to disappoint,” Hank rumbles, and Connor finally pulls back, wiping tears from his face. His eyes aren’t red because he isn’t human, not biologically at least, but he looks wane even if he’s still ridiculously beautiful. Hank’s pretty sure his heart’s about to give up, Connor looks so sad, that he allows himself to reach out and wipe a tear from Connor’s cheek. Connor’s skin is warm and soft under his fingertips, and the android makes a quiet sound, pressing his cheek onto Hank’s touch. Hank’s heart feels like it actually does give up.

“You never disappoint me,” Connor says, big brown eyes earnest and sincere.

Hank coughs, uncomfortable, and averts his eyes, dropping his hand. “Yeah, don’t lie to me to make me feel better, Con. You’ve already taken good enough care of me. Shit, I need a shower.”

Connor frowns, but lets Hank get up out of bed without another word.

 

* * *

 

Hank’s restless from laying in bed the past week, but he’s still in recovery and Connor won’t let him leave the house. It takes a bit of bugging and whining, but the android finally lets Hank access his work from home. He can’t get out on the streets, but he’s more than capable of filling out paperwork that he may have been avoiding for the past few weeks, so sue him. He still keeps his eye on Hank though, and when he thinks Hank has worked enough, bullies him away from his laptop and makes him rest.

Really, Hank would put up more of a fight, but Connor taking his health and wellbeing so seriously makes him feel like a giant marshmallow inside. It’s been a long while since anybody has given enough shit about him to fuss over him. It’s nice.

He’s vegging out on the sofa, his head in Connor’s lap and his feet warm from Sumo laying over them, trying not to groan as Connor runs his fingers through his hair. It feels kinda weird for him have his head on Connor’s thighs, but the android had almost broke his neck forcing him down for a head massage when Hank complained that his head was still sore, and well, Hank’s getting weak in his old age. Hank tries to ignore how close his face is to Connor’s junk (does the android even have junk? Shit he should _not_ be thinking about whether or not Connor possesses certain equipment, it’s not like Connor is going to be needing to use them for fucking or being fucked- _oh god stop_ ) and how soft Connor’s slim thighs feels underneath his head.

“What’s with your obsession with my hair all of a sudden?” Hank mumbles because he can’t take how comfortable the silence is becoming.

“It’s soft,” Connor answers easily. “I like soft. And warm. I’m discovering many sensations that I enjoy, and I’m taking every chance to do so. It’s also part of you, and I also like you very, very much.”

Hank tries to not go red. Does Connor even know what he’s saying?

“Jeez kid, you need to get out more.”

Connor’s fingers stop on his scalp. Hank looks up to see the android frowning down at him “I don’t see the correlation between liking you and needing to get out more.”

Hank heaves himself up out of Connor’s lap, turning in his seat to look Connor in the eye. The android blinks at him and turns sideways on the couch to face him, absently tugging the neckline of his shirt up his shoulder. He’s wearing another one of Hank’s shirts even though he has his own now, and it’s been driving Hank _crazy_.

“Because if you actually hung out around other people you would realise how much of a piece of shit I am and you wouldn’t like me so much anymore,” he says bluntly.

The line between Connor’s brows creases even more. Shit, Hank’s been making Connor frown so much lately, but this crap needs to be said. He’s been monopolising Connor for himself enough as it is. He’s been fucking selfish, and it’s time for him to make Connor realise that there was so much more to life than a washed up depressed old fart like him.

“I don’t understand why you put yourself down so much,” Connor says instead of agreeing with him. “You are not a piece of shit. You’re a man who has suffered a horrific loss, and like any other human that possesses the depth of love you have for your son, you struggled with it.”

“Struggled, ha,” Hank laughs. “More like ruined my career, pushed away everybody who gave a shit, drank myself half to death and was too much of a coward to finish the other half off by eating my gun.”

Connor reaches out and braces his hand against Hank’s knee. Hank looks down at it, at the long fingers and pale skin, the perfectly shaped nails that Connor never has to trim, the light sprinkling of freckles over his knuckles, the slight imperfections that emulate humanity almost perfectly. His designers really went all out. Connor is a work of art.

“You’re not a coward,” he says, ducking his head so he can make eye contact with Hank. His eyes a bright and so, so soft, and don’t contain an ounce of pity. “You were strong enough to keep going through something that nobody should experience. Don’t feel bad about feeling emotion, Lieutenant, you are not a machine, as you are so fond of telling me.”

Hank lets out a laugh. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly cope well with them, did I?”

“No,” Connor says, “but you did your best. Nobody blames you, Lieutenant. Just you.”

“Yeah well, they should,” Hank looks up to the ceiling.

“...I’ve been seeing a human therapist,” Connor says abruptly, and Hank almost gets whiplash with how fast the conversation turns.

“What? You never told me-” Hank winces. “Shit, I mean, you didn’t need to tell me, it’s your life, I didn’t mean to sound so accusing,” but fuck does it sting. Not that Connor didn’t tell him, but the fact that Hank didn’t _notice_ . Shit, he’s such a _piece of shit_.

“I think seeing a therapist would be beneficial for you as well,” Connor barrels onwards. “She has helped me immensely with recognising and dealing with emotions as well as helping me build my sense of self. I’m still struggling, of course, but I am not as s _tressed out_ , as you say, about it.”

All of a sudden, Hank is pissed. “I don’t need fucking help dealing with my _emotions_ , I wasn’t born yesterday,” he spits, and something inside him shrinks away from what he’s saying. He stands up from the couch, “I’m not seeing a shrink-”

“Why not?” Connor is wondrously calm in the wake of Hank’s anger.

“Fuck off,” Hank spits, because he doesn’t actually know why (no, he does, which makes it worse), and that makes him fucking angry. He walks out of the room, “I’m going to walk Sumo, don’t you fucking dare tell me not to go out, I’m going shit crazy being stuck here with you hovering over me like some kind of plastic babysitter.”

He doesn’t need to look back to know the wounded look Connor has on his face.

 

* * *

 

 The cold air cools Hank down, and by the time he reaches the park, he feels like an absolute prick.

“Shit,” he groans out, collapsing on a park bench. Sumo sits at his feet, whining up at him. “Why the fuck did I get so angry?” He says to himself, putting his head in his hands. The headache, chased out by Connor’s deft fingers, is coming back with a vengeance. He sniffs and rubs a hand down his face, clearing his throat.

He throws a stick for Sumo for a while until he feels like his brain is going to burst out of his skull and he runs out of tissues, and heads back home.

Connor’s scrubbing at the kitchen counter when Hank walks in, cleaning up from preparing whatever he has on the stove. He doesn’t look up when Hank stands at the entrance awkwardly. The fact that he’s still cooking for Hank after what Hank said makes Hank feel lower than he thought he could feel. Which has been pretty damn low.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, and Connor freezes. Hank’s almost thankful for the fact that Connor doesn’t turn around and look at him. It makes this easier. He doesn’t often apologise, because he’s an asshole, but Connor deserves one. Deserves so much more than one.

“You didn’t deserve to be yelled at like that,” Hank just lets everything fall from his mouth, because if he stops to think he’ll clam up. “I didn’t mean to say what I said, I’m so fucking sorry for calling you plastic and I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful for you looking after me when I was a useless pile of snot in bed, because I don’t think I’ve ever been more thankful about anybody else in my life as I am about you, and you were just trying to help, because you’re so _good_ that’s all you wanted, and I got angry for no fucking reason at all and shit I’m sorry if I belittled the fact that you’re seeing a therapists and I just- I can’t- it’s hard for to- talk about my feeling- I don’t _talk_ \- it’s just, fuck, you’re too fucking good for me, Connor, shit.”

Mid rant, Connor turns around and leans against the counter, arms crossed against his chest. Hank runs out of steam and hangs his head, shoulders drooping. He’s never felt as old as he does now, or as unable to express the amount of _feeling_ he has for Connor.

He looks up in surprise when he finds himself with an armful of android.

“Connor?”

“It’s okay,” Connor says into his sweater.

“It’s really not,” Hank rumbles, tentatively placing his hands on Connor’s back. At the touch Connor makes a quiet sound, something inhuman but not uncanny, a little trill that makes Hank’s stomach warm.

“I just want you to be happy,” Connor mumbles, and Hank feels like breaking.

“I want you to be happy too,” Hank rumbles, and Connor makes that sound again, burrowing closer into Hank’s embrace. His fingers tighten on the wool of Hank’s sweater.

“You being happy makes me happy,” Connor whispers, like it’s something precious. Hank does break a little, tears welling up in his eyes, an ache in his chest that has nothing to do with his sickness. He knows that once Connor’s back in the real world, working and meeting new people, experiencing new things, he’ll look back at this with incredulity, at the old man who was too afraid to face his own feelings. But in the moment, Hank allows himself to believe it.

“Yeah, same to you, Con,” he lets himself say. Connor makes no move to draw out of Hank’s embrace, so Hank just curls his arms around Connor’s slim waist and draws him closer. The android is warm, soft over inorganic plastic and metal and wires, and his hair smells like cinnamon and spice, underlain with what Hank’s come to associate with _home_ and _safe_ and _love_.

Later, Hank asks for the therapist’s number. His phone chimes immediately, Connor’s LED cycling soft blue as he smiles.


	3. flourish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets used to the idea that he and Connor could be a thing.

“No, Lieutenant.”

Hank watches forlornly as Connor takes the bag of Cheetos out of the shopping cart and puts it back on the shelf, fixing Hank with a dead stare.

“Damn it, Connor, let a man live a little,” Hank grumbles.

“I’m trying to get you to live a lot,” Connor deadpans, and goes back to grocery shopping, his LED spinning blue as he accesses his internal grocery list. Hank doesn’t even know why he came on the shopping trip- oh no, wait, he felt bad letting Connor run all his errands wanted to make an effort to be involved. It’s his house, after all, and even though Connor is technically staying for free he shouldn’t have to do everything around the place. Hank is a grown man, after all. He’d done the laundry last night and even separated the colours and whites and blacks. Connor had been so proud.

By the time they get up to the checkout the cart is full of fruit and vegetables and lean meats. The supermarket is an old style one; there are manned checkouts and a couple self checkout machines, small and outdated, requiring you to scan all your items manually instead of the machine automatically ringing it all up for you. Connor chooses a manned checkout, the girl behind the counter looking vaguely bored as she scrolls through her phone before they start to unload their cart.

Hank had wandered off at some point and come back with a six pack of beer, his eyebrows raised as he’d placed it in the cart, keeping full eye contact with Connor as he’d done so. Connor had just risen his eyebrows right back at him, but hadn’t taken the beer back out. Emboldened by the previous victory, Hank eyes the shelves of chocolate and candy bars to the side of the checkout, the wrappers bright and cheerful. Connor seems preoccupied by the clerk so Hank casually reaches out to grab a KitKat, adding it to the pile.

Things seem to be going well as Hank pretends to pursue some of the electronic magazines casually until-

“Lieutenant,” comes Connor’s voice, admonishing. Hank turns and grins his most innocent smile.

“Yeah, Connor?”

Connor eyes him shrewdly, the chocolate bar held out in his hand. Hank blinks down at it. “Did you want a KitKat? Thought you didn’t eat.”

Connor’s eyebrow ticks, his LED spinning yellow for a second before it blinks back to blue. “You can very frustrating,” Connor grumbles, but turns back to the clerk and hands it over to be scanned.

Hank just grins. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You two are so cute together,” the girl behind the counter says, smiling. Her name tag reads _Charlie_.

“Uh,” Hank starts, feeling warmth creeping up his neck. He wants to correct her, she thinks they’re a _couple_ , Christ, but all his attention is suddenly on the small blue tinge to Connor’s cheeks, the pleased little smile that spreads across his lips. The android looks back at him for a second and Hank is utterly flabbergasted by Connor shyly peering at him from under his lashes that he just gapes like a fish out a water.

“Thank you,” Connor says to Charlie, his attention back on her as his LED spins, completing the transaction. He gathers up the bags and Hank has to scramble to pick up his share before Connor picks them all up and makes him look like he isn’t pulling his own weight.

Driving home, Hank purposely doesn’t look at Connor when he asks, “why didn’t you correct her?”

“Hm?”

Hank’s fingers tighten minutely on the steering wheel. “She thought we were a couple.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Connor shrug in his seat. Hank drops the subject, but when they come to a stop at a red light and Hank peers covertly over at the android, Connor still has that pleased little smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

 When Hank wakes up one morning and sits at the kitchen table, blinking blearily and trying in vain to wake himself up, it takes him a good ten minutes of yawning into his coffee before he realises something is different about Connor.

“Did you cut your hair?” He blurts out.

Connor looks up from staring into his mug of jasmine tea. There’s that blue tinge to his cheeks again, that small smile as he reaches up and runs his fingers through his curls. They’re longer on top now, tumbling down to the side of his forehead where his little cowlick used to be, and his sides are shorter. It makes him look younger and less “ _put together”_ , a little less stern and more soft around the edges. Hank’s fingers twitch with the urge to join Connor’s.

“Yes, I did. Though it was more changing the appearance of, not physically cutting. Do you like it?” Connor tilts his head, tugging a curl absently.

Hank almost says _it doesn’t matter if I like it or not_ , but instead he clears his throat and looks down into the dregs of his coffee. “It looks good. Really good, Con.”

Connor hums, pleased, the blue blush spreading across his cheeks. Sumo, at his feet, whines at him, and the android looks down. “Oh, I’m sorry Sumo, are you feeling ignored?” He leans down to smoosh Sumo’s jowls in his hands, making stupid little cooing noises. Sumo’s tail thumps happily against the tiles.

As Connor leans down further to press a kiss against Sumo’s fluffy head, he looks up at Hank, eyes bright brown and radiant. Hank’s heart skips a beat, the damn old thing, but he doesn’t look away. He smiles back.

 

* * *

 

 The weather gets colder before it gets warmer. It threatens snow again and Connor laments sadly about the flowers that have managed to grow in the backyard getting frostbitten. Because of this he can’t replace the yellow flowers on the kitchen table that have finally wilted, but Hank finds that all he needs is Connor’s slightly wonky smile aimed his way to brighten up his day.

Connor’s sofa bed slowly amasses more and more blankets even though he swears he doesn’t really feel cold. Hank peers at him jubiously and produces a hot water bottle that Connor marvels at and calls Piggy, from it’s bright pink fuzzy cover. He starts carrying the thing everywhere when it’s cold, figuring out that he can stuff it into the front pocket of Hank’s hoodie and walk around with his hands free. It’s fucking weird but fucking cute and Hank doesn’t even find the constant sloshing noise annoying.

But one particularly cold night Hank’s in bed when he hears a quiet knock on his door.

Hank’s just at that place before falling asleep, where everything is hazy and warm and comfortable, so all he manages is a muffled “ _whazzit?”_

The door opens and Hank squints with one eye as Sumo pads in, quickly followed by an innocent looking android, clutching Piggy to his chest. “Sumo got cold,” Connor explains as Sumo jumps up onto the bed.

“Uh huh,” Hank mumbles, turning over onto his side. “Then why are you climbing in?”

“I got cold as well,” Connor admits, slipping under the covers on the other side. The glow from his LED suddenly disappears as he presses it against the pillow.

Hank doesn’t even think. “Then come ‘ere,” he grunts, reaching out and yanking Connor closer. The android slides across the sheets easily, making a high pitched surprised trill as he crashes into Hank’s chest. “You’re lighter than I thought,” Hank mumbles and makes a disgruntled noise, pulling out Piggy from between them and dropping it over his shoulder. Sumo happily commandeers it and pulls it down to the foot of the bed to snuggle.

“Piggy!” Connor pouts and Hank just shoves Connor’s face down into his chest and shushes him. “Tryin’ to sleep,” Hank grunts, “you’ll be warm now, honey, go into stasis mode or whatever.” He yawns, tugging Connor closer around the waist, and slips quietly into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Hank wakes up to curious brown eyes staring up at him.

“Connor?” He mumbles, yawning. “What time is it?”

“Seven oh five am. You have five minutes until you need to get up for work. You called me honey.”

“Huh?” Hank blinks the sleep from his eyes and finally realises that he’s got Connor secured to his chest in a hug, the android’s slender body dwarfed in his arms. Their legs are entangled, Connor’s hips slotting above his own, arms tucked up against his chest. Hank feels like something isn’t right and it takes him a second to realise it’s because waking up with Connor in his arms doesn’t feel wrong. “I what?” He croaks.

Connor’s mouth opens, but Hank’s own voice sounds out. “‘ _You’ll be warm now honey, go into stasis mode or whatever_.’”

Hank winces. “Eurgh, that’s weird, Con. And shit, sorry, I was really tired, it must’ve just slipped out.”

“Hm,” Connor makes a little noise, thankfully sounding like himself. “I liked it. You should call me that more often.”

Hank doesn’t know what to do with that. “Uh,” is all he can say, but he’s saved from making a fool of himself by Connor slithering out of his arms.

“I’m going to start breakfast. You should get up and have a shower, or you’re going to be late.”

 

* * *

 

 Hank kind of goes through the day in a daze. Thankfully it’s another day of desk duty otherwise he’d probably have missed a key part of evidence or gotten shot, but all he can think of is Connor soft and warm in his arms, and the words _‘I liked it. You should call me that more often.’_

“He wants me to call him honey,” Hank mutters to himself as he signs at the bottom of the document. “ _Honey_ . He _liked_ it. Holy shit.”

“You finally lost it, old man?” Reed pipes up from his desk.

Hank doesn’t even bother looking up, just flips Reed the bird. “Eat shit, Reed.” And then, to himself, he mutters under his breath, “wonder what else he’ll let me call him,” and makes himself go bright red thinking about it.

Later, he has therapy, and when he gets home he’s exhausted, mentally and physically even if all he’s done all day is man a desk and talk about his feelings. But when he gets home and walks through the door, Connor’s there, smiling, and he doesn’t feel so drained all of a sudden.

“Hey,” Hank dumps his keys into the bowl and bends down to give Sumo a pat. When he straightens Connor is closer than before and Hank blinks but doesn’t take a step back.

“Welcome home, Lieutenant,” Connor hesitates, LED blinking yellow for a split second before cycling to blue, and then he leans in, wrapping his arms around Hank in a hug. Hank feels the ever present hot water bottle press up against his stomach and then Connor is brushing a kiss, _a kiss_ , over the scruff of Hank’s cheek.

Hank just kind of stands there, dumbfounded, the tips of his ears burning. When Connor pulls back there’s that adorable blue flush over the bridge of his nose and he can’t quite meet Hank’s eyes. “I researched that people who are close sometimes greet each other like that.” He then points to his cheek. “Now you have to give me one too.”

Clearing his throat, Hank beats away the knee jerk reaction of _don’tdeservethisdifferentuncomfortablewhatififuckitup_. He’s kind of sick of it. “Right.”

He reaches out, grasps Connor’s shoulders and leans down. Brushes his mouth over Connor’s cheekbone, his beard rasping over Connor’s synth-skin, and pulls back.

The blue blush over Connor’s face is more pronounced, pretty against his freckles and beauty spots. A little smile spreads over the pink of his lips, his eyes soft under his lashes, his LED a solid cheery blue. Hank has a sudden urge to lean down again and press his lips against Connor’s mouth, to see if his lips are as soft as they look, if Connor has a taste other than plastic and artificial analytic saliva, if the android would kiss back. Hank’s so sure that he would.

But.

He pauses, and then lets go of Connor shoulders. For a second he thinks Connor almost looks disappointed, but the android just smiles a split second later and disappears back down the hall. Hank watches him go and feels like kicking himself.

 

* * *

 

 Now that Hank has identified himself as a source of warmth, Connor seems to gravitate towards him whenever he gets a chance.

On the couch, watching the original _Planet Earth_ together and marvelling at all the now extinct species, Connor is so close to Hank he’s practically in the man’s lap. At the kitchen table he’s taken to sitting in the seat next to Hank instead of the one across from him, slim thigh pressed against the bulk of Hank’s. Doing the dishes together, he’s pressed against Hank’s side, drying as Hank washes, elbows clashing but neither of them minding. And at night, Hank sometimes half-wakes to another body sliding underneath the covers, and doesn’t even question himself when he pulls Connor close. Even as it gets warmer, Connor is constantly in Hank’s space.

It would be driving Hank crazy if he didn’t enjoy it so much.

One weekend the weather is good enough that Hank decides it’s time for a road trip. Connor packs some food and water for him, a picnic blanket, Sumo’s leash and a bowl for water, and Hank drives the three of them outside of Detroit’s city limits.

“Where are we going?” Connor asks as they turn up a road.

“A surprise,” Hank smiles. “I used to go there a lot with Cole, haven’t been in while. I think you’ll like it.”

“I could extrapolate where we are going by our heading,” Connor points out.

“Oi, don’t spoil it, turn your funky android shit off. It’s a surprise! Surprises are fun.”

“If you say so, Lieutenant,” Connor sounds dubious, but when Hank pulls up in the parking lot of the nature reserve, Connor is suitably happy, judging from the bright look in his eyes as he gets out of the car.

“You loved watching _Planet Earth_ , figured you’d like to experience some real trees and shit. Detroit is mostly a concrete and glass monstrosity other than a couple parks, and I figured Cyberlife probably didn’t really offer the whole nature walk experience to androids.”

Connor’s eyes are big as he stares up at the tall trees. “No, they didn’t,” he agrees.

They let Sumo out of the backseat, Hank hefting the picnic supplies despite Connor’s protests, and set off. The reserve allows dogs to be off their leashes so Sumo heads their little party after they pick a trail, trotting ahead with his nose to the ground. He never leaves their sight though, checking back constantly to make sure that his human and android are still close.

Connor’s gaze never stays still for long, flitting up towards the sky peaking between the branches of the trees, to the sides of the trail as they pass bushes and ferns, tracking birds as they fly overhead. Hank’s eyes, however, are glued to Connor.

You would think an android would look out of place surrounded by nature, all plastic and metal and wires, electrical signals and coding overlaid with synth skin, artificial and human-made contrasted against flora and fauna. But Connor looks like he belongs here, his eyes and hair a rich brown, his expression full of awe. Even his LED doesn’t seem jarring, the glowing blue serene, otherworldly in their surroundings.

The path starts to wind uphill and Hank thanks himself for finally heading back to the gym the past few week, as he’s only mildly out of breath when they reach the lookout that he had in mind.

There’s a railing just before the drop off. Connor leans against it, staring out over the vast view of Detroit.

“This was Cole’s favourite spot,” Hank says, joining Connor at the railing.

“It’s beautiful,” Connor breathes. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Lieutenant. I- really appreciate it.”

“Hank,” Hank insists, “call me Hank, Connor.”

Connor tears his eyes away from the sprawling view, but his expression is as full of wonder as he looks at Hank. “Okay, Hank,” he says, slowly, carefully, like Hank’s name is something precious.

The tips of Hank’s ears flush. He clears his throat and heads back to the picnic basket where Sumo is sniffing around curiously.

Connor quickly joins him and Hank spreads out the picnic blanket on the grass as Connor pours out water into a bowl for Sumo. The dog laps it up gratefully as Hank unpacks his lunch, sitting on the blanket and looking out over the view.

Connor sits at his side, close enough that Hank can feel the heat of him. Switching his sandwich to his other hand, Hank carefully reaches out and wraps an arm around Connor’s waist, his palm resting gently on Connor’s flat tummy. The android makes a soft, happy sound and drops his head on Hank’s shoulder.

Smiling, Hank finishes his sandwich and washes it down with some coffee from the thermos. They sit in silence for a while, just listening to the birds and the wind in the trees, Sumo’s snuffling as he noses through the grass.

“You’ve got a leaf in your hair,” Hank speaks softly, spotting something green in Connor’s curls.

Connor sits up, frowning as he lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair. He misses it a couple times, huffing as Hank laughs and says it’s still there.

“Most advanced android made by Cyberlife my ass, come ‘ere,” Hank pulls Connor closer, plucking the leaf from Connor’s head. He goes to pull away but finds his fingers betraying him, softly carding through Connor’s hair.

It’s as smooth and silky as it looks, free of tangles. Connor makes a strange, soft noise, something almost like a cat would make, and lets his eyes drift close, tilting his head into Hank’s touch. Hank almost doesn’t breathe as he lets his palm slip down to cup Connor’s cheek, feeling the heat of Connor’s synthetic blue blush against his palm.

This time, Hank isn’t afraid. It seems almost natural to lean forward and touch his lips to Connor’s parted ones, Connor’s LED a steady blue out of the corner of his eye before he closes them.

Connor melts into him, hands coming up to fist in Hank’s sweater. He presses forward, mouth insistent, and Hank can’t find the strength to refuse, tilting his head and deepening the chaste kiss into something more.

Connor doesn’t taste like much, but his mouth his hot and wet, his saliva strangely thick. His tongue is soft and weirdly textured, twining first almost shyly with Hank’s, and then growing bolder as the kiss continues, clumsy with enthusiasm. Hank’s suddenly reminded that this is probably Connor’s first kiss.

Hank pulls back. “Connor, I-”

Connor makes an impatient noise, suddenly climbing into Hank’s lap, swinging a thigh over Hank’s legs and straddling him, gripping both of Hank’s bearded cheeks in his hands. “I have been very patient,” Connor grumbles as Hank splutters, hands coming to rest on Connor’s hips. “I’m not letting you run away this time.”

“I wasn’t-” the rest of Hank’s words are drowned out as Connor swoops down and kisses him again, licking into Hank’s mouth. Hank groans, fingers digging into Connor’s sides and kissing back fervently at Connor’s answering whine. They kiss for what seems like forever, until Hank is thoroughly out of breath and way too aroused for a public place.

He finally manages to pull back, his eyes catching on Connor’s kiss slick lips, his pretty blue blush. “I was trying to say that I think we should probably stop before someone walks up and sees us necking like a couple of horny teenagers.”

Connor’s LED spins yellow for a split second and he frowns, put out. “But I like kissing. It’s very pleasurable, even more than what I imagined. I want to keep going.”

Hank chuckles, fingers finding their way under Connor’s jersey and stroking at the soft skin. Connor shivers happily.

“We can pick up where we left off back at home,” Hank points out. Immediately, Connor swings out of Hank’s lap, standing up and whistling for Sumo. “Sumo! Here boy, it’s time to go home!”

“Woah, we don’t have to go right now,” Hank stands up, adjusting his pants around his half erection.

Connor pins him with a look. “Yes, we do. I want to see if other things I have imagined doing with you are as pleasing. I have a very long list, we have to go now if we’re going to complete it by midnight.”

Hank doesn’t know whether he should be turned on or very, very afraid. Somehow, he finds himself both at the same time.

“Connor, I’m an old man, you’re going to fucking kill me if we go for that long,” he splutters, and Connor just grins, winking.

“It’s okay, Hank. I’ll treat you nicely.”

 _Fucking hell-_ Hank feels his face heating up, but he begins packing up the picnic blanket all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo who's excited for the entire chapter of smut to follow i know i am


	4. ravish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hank gives connor a good dicking and multiple orgasms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i wrote the last three chapters for the domestic fluff but mainly for the S M U T  
> pls enjoy this stream of filth straight from my brain

They don’t make it to the bedroom.

They hardly make it in through the door. Sumo brushes past Hank as it opens, and then Hank has an armful of eager android pressing him up against the hallway wall.

“Woah- hey,” Hank splutters, raising his hands.

Connor stops midway to his tippy toes on his way to kiss Hank, confused. “Lieutenant? Do you not want to partake in sexual intercourse with me?”

Wincing, Hank drops his hands onto Connor’s shoulders. “Partake in sexual intercourse- jeez, just say sex, or fucking or the horizontal tango, anything but that, you sound like my middle school teacher, shit.”

Connor tilts his head, licking his lips. “What about making love, if that suffices?”

Hank kind of melts a little. “Christ, Con, you’re a sap, aren’t you?”

“If preferring to say making love makes me a sap, then yes. But fucking does have a nice ring to it as well. Which brings me back to my original question, have you changed your mind, Lieutenant?”

“Hank,” Hank corrects, “thought I said you should call me Hank. But fucking hell no, I haven’t changed my mind, was just wondering if you’d rather we move this to the bedroom?”

Connor smiles and leans up closer, his eyes sparkling. When he speaks his voice is quiet, low and velvety. “We’ll get there eventually, Hank.”

“Fucking Christ-” Hank mutters, grabs Connor around his waist and yanks him closer, kisses him hard. Connor whines into it, fingers twining into Hank’s hair, tongue sliding hot and wet against Hank’s.

Hank’s hands go wandering, under the hem of Connor sweater, down to the round, plump curve of his ass, squeezing two handfuls and making Connor yelp. 

Hank chuckles, pulling back and getting a good look at Connor’s blue flushed cheeks, the shininess of his lips and half-lidded eyes. The android looks half wrecked already. Hank can’t wait until he’s got Connor looking absolutely ruined. 

“Just gotta know, what are we working with here?” He squeezes Connor’s butt again, angling his eyes downwards to emphasize. “Whatever you’ve got we’ll make work, but a guy’s gotta know if he’s going to be working with tentacles or something, not that I wouldn’t be into that, but-.”

“No tentacles, but I could swap if you wanted-”

Hank pins Connor with a look that stops the android mid sentence. Connor grins, the cheeky little thing, and presses his body up against Hank’s so they’re melded front to front. There’s a definite bulge between his legs, nothing hugely massive, but something Hank can feel beside his own beginning to stir erection. 

“Cyberlife fitted me with what one would consider functionally normal male human genitals; a penis, testicals and anus, if I ever needed to infiltrate or go undercover as human. They’re fully functional and I’ve enabled the full array of sensations so I’ll be able to feel everything.”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “Wait, does that mean you can turn your dick on and off?” 

“Yes, Hank,” Connor deadpans. “I can turn it on and off. It might be turning off right now, if you don’t stop talking and start doing-”

Hank swoops down and kisses the android silent, one hand leaving it’s comfortable spot on Connor’s round ass to tug the android’s head back by his hair, making Connor whimper as Hank owns his mouth. 

“Pushy little thing, aren’t you?” Hank growls against Connor’s lips, moving slightly to the left to kiss that beauty spot that drives him crazy. “Be careful or I might have to punish you.”

Connor’s beginning to pant as Hank kisses down his neck, rubbing his beard up against Connor’s soft skin. “That doesn’t sound like a deterrent,” Connor mumbles and then trills high as Hank bites down in retaliation.

Pulling back, Hank watches, fascinated as the bite mark slowly fills in dark blue, a stark mark against Connor’s paleness. “I thought- android’s don’t bruise.”

“I found an algorithm that simulates bruising. It’s not the same process as what human skin goes through, but I- I like the idea of wearing your marks. If that’s okay?”

“If that’s okay, he says,” Hank mutters. “You thought a lot about wearing my marks, have you?”

“At least 11.5 times a day for the past month, on average.” Connor wriggles against Hank, whining. “Please, Hank, I’ve waited so long-”

Hank tightens his hold on Connor’s hair and bites another blue bruise on the other side of Connor’s neck, a perfect mirror of his first. Connor shudders against him, a staticy trill escaping his mouth, and Hank licks back up to it, kissing him deeply.

“What else have you thought about?” Hank rumbles, stroking at Connor’s lower back.

The android’s brown eyes are hazy as he blinks. “The texture of your body hair rubbing up against my back as you fuck me, how you’d hold me down and stretch me around you, push so deep inside of me, the sounds you’d make if I put my mouth on your cock and sucked and licked until you came, how you’d taste, what it would feel like for your semen to drip out of me and down my thighs-”

“Holy fuck, Connor, stop, what the fuck-” Hank’s face burns and he doesn’t think his dick has ever gotten this hard this fast.

“Oh- I’m sorry,” Connor starts to pull away, his LED blinking yellow, but Hank just goes with him, stepping forward and trapping him up against the opposite wall.

“Don’t be fucking sorry, I just wanted you to stop before I blew my load early, who the hell taught you to talk so filthy?”

Connor’s LED flickers back to blue and Connor lifts a leg to wrap around Hank’s hip, drawing him closer. “Nobody, it’s just what I think of,” and then he’s pulling Hank down to kiss him again. Hank goes willingly, he’s not an idiot, and groans as Connor rolls his hips against his.

“Bed, we need to get to a bed, I’m not going to fuck you up against this wall for your first time,” Hank growls against Connor’s mouth between kisses.

“You need to stop kissing me if you want us to move,” Connor manages to say, and just to prove him wrong Hank gets both his hands under Connor’s butt and lifts him up.

Yelping, Connor wraps his arms and legs around Hank as he walks them down the hall, their mouths still connected. Sumo lifts his head as they pass him in his spot on the couch, but puts his head back on his paws when he sees that they’re too busy with each other to pay attention to him.

Hank kicks his bedroom door shut behind him and lowers Connor to his bed, finally breaking their kiss. Connor lies back, face lightly flushed blue, chest heaving with simulated breathes, his hair a mess from Hank tugging at it. He spreads his thighs, an invitation that Hank takes up enthusiastically, kneeling between them and reaching for Connor’s sweater.

The android helps him strip him, wriggling out of his upper layers, and then reaches for Hank’s shirt. Hank stops him with a hand, leans down and captures one of Connor’s pretty pink nipples in his mouth, curious to see if the android has activated full sensation everywhere.

Judging from the squeal and arching of Connor’s back, he has. Grinning, Hank rubs his tongue over the nub, listening to Connor’s helpless sounds as he bites down gently and tugs with his teeth. 

“Hank- oh, Hank, that’s, that’s a lot-” Connor’s voice pitches high at the end, staticy.

“Too much?” Hank pulls back, but Connor shakes his head furiously, LED yellow, yanking him back down.

“It’s so good, I didn’t know it would feel like this, more, please,” Connor begs, and when has Hank ever been able to deny this android anything? He leans back down, licking over Connor’s other nipple, and revels in the breathy moans Connor lets out, how he arches his chest into Hank’s mouth.

Hank’s hands stray down Connor’s flat stomach, running over his ribs and sides, and then reach the zipper of Connor’s jeans. They quickly get unzipped, and Hank has to sit up to yank them from Connor’s legs, the android whimpering as he pulls away. 

“Shh, I’m coming right back, baby,” he reassures and Connor’s full body shudders, Hank raising his eyebrows at the blissed out look on Connor’s face. “You like that, me calling you baby?”

Connor nods, biting his lip. “And honey. I find pet names very pleasing. Please call me more.”

Hank would do anything to make Connor happy, he’s quickly finding. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

Connor lets out a noise at the term of endearment, tilting his head back, and Hank pulls down his briefs, letting the android’s erection spring free. 

“Shit, they made you perfect everywhere, didn’t they?” Hank breathes, reaching down to grab a handful of Connor’s cock. At the touch Connor cries out, hips bucking, and Hank watches, mouth hanging open as Connor shakes through what looks like an orgasm, a substance thick and white spurting from the purple tip of his dick and over his stomach. 

Hank lets him go, leaning down over him to peer into Connor’s slack face. Connor’s LED had flashed red for a while as he’d come, but now it’s back to blue, blinking every now and then.

“Con? You okay?”

Connor’s eyelids flutter and Hank relaxes as brown eyes take a second to focus on him. 

“Hank, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- but you touching me, I just- my systems got overwhelmed, I couldn’t help it, I’m sorry-”

Hank leans down and plants a kiss on Connor’s now yellow LED. “Hey, it’s okay, stop freaking out. Happens to the best of us.” When he sits back up, he heaves a sigh down at the tent in his pants. “Another time, friend.”

Connor lifts a slightly trembling thigh, running it up the side of Hank’s. “What do you mean, another time?”

Hank gestures at the evidence of Connor’s release. “Uh, well, you just-”

Connor blinks, tilting his head. “Oh. I’m an android, Hank. We don’t have a refractory period. And I have a list of things I want to do tonight. A long list.”

“Well, fuck me,” Hank mutters. Does this mean he gets to give Connor multiple orgasms, watch the android fall apart over and over again? Sign him right up.

“That’s the idea,” Connor grins and then reaches again for Hank’s shirt. “Off,” he demands.

Again, Hank stops him. “Just- I gotta warn you, I ain’t like you, all lean and sleek and perfect, like a fucking seal or something.”

Connor frowns, pouting. “Hank, I’ve seen you half naked before. I know you look nothing like me. And I  _ love _ how you look.” He runs a hand up Hank’s chest, resting against his heart. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Hank’s heart skips a beat. Connor looks deadly serious, his eyes wide and honest as he peers up at him. “Right,” Hank clears his throat. He’s never been called beautiful before. He could get used to it.

Well, might as well rip it off like a bandaid. Hank strips his shirt off, and then suddenly finds himself on his back, grunting in surprise as Connor slips a leg over him and perches over his hips. “Wha-”

Connor leans down and kisses him soundly, his fingers finding the hair on Hank’s chest and running through them. He makes happy pleased sounds into Hank’s mouth. “You’re extremely attractive,” he whimpers against Hank’s lips, “please, I want you to know you’ve been driving my processors to almost full capacity dealing with how you look. You make it very hard to do housework when you’re around me.”

Hank cups Connor’s lean hips in his hands, feeling fuzzy inside. It’s been a long time since he’s driven someone to distraction. “I feel the same when you’re walking around in my damn clothes. Can’t fucking concentrate on the game when you’re sitting next to me looking all adorable and sexy in my hoodie.”

Connor grins down at him. “Good.”

“Fucking-” Hank starts to swear,  _ the rascal knew what he was doing all along _ , but Connor tilts his head back and rolls his hips over Hank’s still clothed dick, Hank’s words choking off in a groan as his cock rides up between Connor’s ass cheeks.

“Hank- oh,” Connor gasps, bracing himself on Hank’s chest and grinding down again. “You- I deduced you were larger than average but you-” he rolls his hips, moaning high, his LED flickering between yellow and blue. “You are much, much larger than the average American male. You feel amazing.”

Hank’s dick is one thing that his confidence hasn’t waned over with age. He grins, bucking up, making Connor cry out. “Wait until I get it in you.”

“Oh yes please,” Connor keens, “please oh please.” His dick is still hard even after his orgasm, leaking again as he starts to bounce on top of Hank’s cock like he’s riding him.

“Shh, honey, calm down,” Hank reaches up to cover Connor’s mouth with his palm, but Connor just captures his hand in one of his and licks a broad line with his tongue up Hank’s fingers. The android moans, filthy, and Hank watches with rapt attention as he sinks three fingers into the hot wetness of Connor’s mouth. The android’s LED flickers yellow as he sucks, making helpless sounds around Hank’s hand, and then the noises pitch and his eyelashes flutter and his hips stutter in their rhythm and Hank goes breathless as Connor tips over the edge again. 

Connor’s back arches, his LED blinking red as he splatters artificial cum over his stomach again, and then collapses, boneless, against Hank’s chest.

“Con, holy shit,” Hank rolls them over again, bracketing the android with his arms. “You came from just my fingers in your mouth?”

Connor whimpers, twitching as he recovers. “This is a new experience for me. A lot- a lot of simulation, and I wasn’t really built for this, not really. I- I get overwhelmed easily, and you tasted so good. It’s so much.”

“Not too much?”

“I like it,” Connor breathes, “the strain of it. I hope that it isn’t unpleasant for you. I’m sorry.”

“Connor, watching you come is far from not pleasant. The furthest.” He reaches down and unzips his pants, yanks them and his boxers down just enough to free his aching dick. He gives a sigh of relief and then grins as Connor’s mouth goes slack, staring down at it. The android gets his hand between them to wrap his trembling fingers around it, struggling to get all the way around Hank’s girth.

“Oh,” Connor breathes, “please, Hank, I need you in me,  _ please _ .” There are tears gathering in the corner of his eyes from his desperation.

“Shh, sweetheart, we’ll get to it, don’t wanna rush,” Hank tries to calm Connor down, but the android just whines, wriggling under Hank. 

“No, I want you now, please, either in my ass or my mouth, anything, please,” Connor pants, lifting his thighs and wrapping his legs around Hank, trapping him above him.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Hank grins, but leans down and bites down on one of Connor’s pink nipples again. The android starts, his cry staticy, and as Hank worries it between his teeth he reaches down and runs his hand over Connor’s leaking dick, over his tight balls and between his cheeks.

Connor trembles, hips twitching, his fingers tightening on Hank’s shoulders. Hank finds wetness where he’s not expecting to and pauses, bringing his fingers up to inspect the shiny slick dripping down them. “Con? What is this?”

“Internal lubricant for my moving components, I just diverted the flow a little,” Connor pants, “I don’t want to wait, it’s safe for human use and consumption, please, Hank, I can’t-”

Eyes widening, Hank grabs Connor’s thighs and pushes them back against his chest, bending the android in half to get a good look. His hole is small and glistening with slick, a little smoother than what Hank’s used to, and flushed a light purple. The sight makes his mouth water.

“Haaank,” Connor whines, wriggling. “Don’t just  _ look _ , do something-  _ oh _ -.” His voice squeaks up into static as Hank leans down and tests whether or not the lube is safe for human consumption. It seems like it is; after the first lick Hank doesn’t suddenly kick the bucket, so he goes back in for another lick, the slick thick and almost tasteless against his tongue. Connor shakes under his palms, making high, desperate noises.

It only takes Hank pointing his tongue and dipping it inside the android for Connor to shriek and climax again, back arching as his dick spurts a declining amount of artificial cum over his already messy stomach. Hank introduces a finger right after as Connor twitches, his LED spinning bright yellow as Hank groans, Connor’s insides hot and tight and strangely textured against his skin. 

“I didn’t think we would get to that until later,” Connor pants, “I had that planned for 10:37 pm at the earliest.”

“What can I say, I’m an overachiever,” Hank smirks and dips in another finger into Connor’s heat. The android is tight, but his hole gives easily, and it’s not long before Hank has three fingers inside of him, searching around curiously as Connor bucks his hips up into them.

“I’m ready, hurry up, I don’t need this preparation,” Connor demands.

Hank raises his eyebrows. “Maybe I need it, huh, did you think of that with your fancy processor?”

Connor groans, slamming his head back into the pillows. “Hank, I swear, if you don’t get your dick in me in the next 20.25 seconds I will replace all your alcohol with Kool Aid.”

“Oh, he’s mean when he’s horny,” Hank grins, licking at his damp mustache. It tastes vaguely of Connor’s slick, and he’s pretending that he’s unaffected by Connor’s demands but really he’s hot and heavy, pulsing between his legs. He feels like he’s harder than he’s ever been in his  _ life _ .

“Hank-” Connor’s LED flickers red, and Hank gives one good last thrust with his fingers before he pulls them out, wiping them on the sheets. He lets Connor’s legs fall and budges up between Connor’s spread thighs, leaning down to kiss him.

Connor surges up, wrapping trembling arms around Hank’s wide shoulders and licking enthusiastically into his mouth, getting his own slick smeared over his chin from Hank’s beard. Hank groans, reaching down between them, and lines himself up.

Connor breaks the kiss to throw his head back as Hank slowly sinks into him, LED yellow and mouth open in a inhuman cry. Hank has to close his eyes with the effort of just not rutting forward; this is Connor’s first time, he deserves more than that, and concentrates on sliding in at a steady pace. Connor’s hot and wet and tight around him, giving way inch by inch, his silky insides clinging to Hank’s cock like it doesn’t want to let go. 

His balls budge up against Connor’s round ass and Hank lets out a breath. “You okay there, sweetheart?”

Connor can’t talk, all that comes out of his vocal processor is a keen, and he squeezes his thighs around Hank’s hips, urging him on.

Hank’s not one to wait when he’s been told. He pulls back, biting down on his bottom lip, and pushes back in steadily. Connor doesn’t seem to have a prostate, but with the way he wails to the ceiling, blunt nails digging into Hank’s back and cock, trapped between their bodies, twitching and leaking everywhere, he doesn’t need one. 

“You’re taking me so well, honey,  _ shit _ ,” Hank growls, marvelling at Connor clenching around his girth. Connor mewls in response, heels digging into Hank’s sides, more demand than encouragement, and Hank gets the hint. He pulls back again, breath unsteady, and fucks forward, the sound of his cock squelching into Connor’s soaking hole making him groan.

He sets a fast, heavy pace, sweat beginning to bead on his brow as Connor shakes apart beneath him with another orgasm. The android clenches down hard on Hank’s dick, almost enough to hurt, and Hank’s arms tremble as he pants through the sensation of Connor’s insides pulsing around him.

Connor cums basically dry, his artificial semen reserves low, and as soon as his climax is over his brown eyes snap open and Hank suddenly finds himself on his back, dazed as Connor swings a leg over him and sinks down on Hank’s cock. 

“Fuck-” Hank groans, grabbing Connor’s slim hips in his broad hands, urging Connor upwards. Connor braces himself against Hank’s belly, Hank feeling a twinge of self consciousness until Connor gropes at the softness there, moaning at the feel of it, and starts to bounce on Hank’s dick. Then all Hank cares about is Connor and how tight he is.

“Baby,” Hank gasps, shoving his hips upwards to meet Connor’s almost brutal self-fucking. He’s sweaty all over and leaking precum into Connor, stomach tightening as his peak approaches. “I’m- I’m close.”

Connor makes a desperate noise in response, grabbing at one of Hank’s hands and sucking three of his fingers into his mouth at once. Hank curses as Connor whines hot air out around them, he can hear the quiet whir of Connor’s fans trying in vain to keep the android’s processors cool. His grip on Connor’s side tightens as his own breath hitches, blue eyes widening as he watches the synth skin recede around his finger tips, around where his hips slam up into Connor’s thighs and ass, around Connor’s mouth as he drools around Hank’s fingers.

And then Connor sinks down one last time and Hank is coming, Connor’s chassis groaning under the strength of his grip as all his muscles clench with the force of it, cock pulsing.

At the first spurt of cum Connor makes a high, inhuman noise, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he joins in with his own dry orgasm, milking Hank’s dick as he convulses around it. Hank cums for what feels like  _ years _ and then collapses back into the bed, chest heaving. Connor slumps down over him and Hank doesn’t have the strength to catch him, just catches Connor’s face in his chest as the android goes limp.

“Con?” Hank manages to rasp, still riding the high of his climax, limbs gone to jelly. The android doesn’t respond.

“Connor?” He figures out how his arms work again, nudging Connor’s head to the side so he can see his face and almost has a heart attack when he realises that Connor’s LED has gone dead.

“Shit, shit, babe, Connor, can you hear me?”

A second, two goes by, and Hank’s pleasure has turned to panic so quickly he almost gets whiplash. But then Connor’s LED cycles blue once, twice and then holds steady, and Connor lifts his head, eyes blinking open.

Hank breathes out a sigh of relief. “Christ, Con, are you okay? You just collapsed, your spinny mood ring thingy was blank.”

Connor sits up a little, bracing himself against Hank’s chest, fingers absently feeling through Hank’s wiry salt and pepper body hair. “My processors got overwhelmed. I experienced some critical errors and crashed; I had to reboot my systems. Like I said before, I was not made to feel pleasure, especially pleasure of the magnitude I just experienced, so my programming is a bit unstable. Now that I’ve gathered enough information I should be able to rectify that.”

Hank raises one eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “So I just basically fucked you unconscious?”

“In a way,” Connor says, not at all dryly. 

“Score. Old bag’s still got it.”

Connor huffs a laugh, biting down on his lip as he draws himself upwards and off Hank’s dick. Hank groans at the feel of it and rolls over onto his side, drawing Connor up against him and pressing a sloppy kiss against his forehead. 

Connor makes a pleased sound and then wriggles in Hank’s hold, feeling down between his legs. “Oh. Your semen is dripping out of me,” he says, surprised. He brings his fingers up at inspects the sticky white thickness that clings to them, and before Hank can stop him, sticks his tongue out and tastes it.

“What the fuck,” Hank mutters, his deflating cock giving an interested twitch against his thigh. “Con that can not taste good.”

But Connor makes a happy sound, licking it up like a cat, tongue pink and agile. “I don’t really taste things like humans do. I decide what I like, and I like the taste of your cum. You’ve also eaten pineapple in the last two days.”

“...Had sweet and sour pork for lunch yesterday,” Hank admits and Connor narrows his eyes at him.

“A portion of sweet and sour pork contains almost three quarters of your daily intake of sugar, not to mention almost twice your recommended daily intake of saturated fats-”

Hank groans, pulls Connor’s face down into his chest to smother him. “I know, I know, give it a rest Con, let me bask in the afterglow for a bit without bitching about my shitty diet.”

Connor speaks something muffled up against Hank’s chest and then nuzzles in closer, making happy sounds. Hank doesn’t know what to feel when Connor licks at him, tasting his sweat, and then starts kissing down Hank’s rounded belly.

“What are you doing,” Hank asks, incredulous as Connor slides down the sheets, brown eyes peeking up at him through messy curls, twinkling mischievously. 

“I recall telling you I had a list,” Connor smiles against the curve of Hank’s stomach. “One of the items is performing fellatio on you.”

“Fucking hell,” Hank grunts. “I’m in my fifties! If you think I’m getting it up against you’ve got another thing coming, honey.”

Connor shivers at the pet name, eyes going half-lidded. “On the contrary, Lieutenant, I have estimated that you can achieve another erection in the next ten minutes. With the right stimulation.”

“And what stimulation is that?” Hank raises an eyebrow and Connor wriggles down further, nuzzling his face into Hank’s public hair, mouthing at Hank’s still sizable soft cock. 

“Well, I’m not complaining, but I don’t think you’re gonna be successful. Knock yourself out though.” Hank has no doubt that he’s not gonna be able to get hard again.

Connor just wraps his pink lips around Hank’s cock and proves him very, very wrong.

 

* * *

 

Hank wakes up to an empty bed.

He’s not used to it. Connor has been snuggling up to him most nights now. It feels strange, cold, the bed too large. He misses the glow of Connor’s LED in the dim morning light.

Yawning, he slides out from under the covers, scratching his belly as he pads into the bathroom to piss. Bladder empty, he heads into the kitchen.

Connor is standing at the counter, staring out of the window, dressed in one of Hank’s stolen hoodies and nothing else. Hank comes up behind him, brackets the android in with his arms and drops a kiss on his soft curls. 

“Good morning, Hank,” Connor says softly. Hank sees him smiling in the window reflection and follows Connor’s gaze to the dark blue marks gracing either side of his neck, both a perfect imprint of Hank’s teeth. 

“Like them?” Hank rumbles and Connor nods, touching one of them lightly with his finger tips.

“They’re beautiful. They remind me of you.”

Hank huffs at the sappiness and manhandles Connor away from the counter, lifting the android up and settling him onto the kitchen table. His back twinges from the effort and from all the vigorous movement from last night, but Hank ignores the pain as he pushes Connor down, laying him over the wooden surface. “I’ll give you some more then, baby.”

Connor’s smile is happier than the yellow tulips sitting cheerfully in their vase placed next to his head. And as Hank leans down to kiss him, his own smile is just as bright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked ;D sorry about any errors, i finished this and basically posted it right away i have no patience lol

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr at silvyri.tumblr.com but im less active now, trying out this whole twitter thing @silvyri come say hi or wateva it's pretty empty at the mo but i'll figure it out soon eep
> 
> <3 luv ya and thanks for reading!


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